Idolon
by aadarshinah
Summary: In which cake is eaten, a movie is watched, and feelings are discussed. Sorta. #20 in the Ancient!John 'verse. McShep, Lorne/Zelenka
1. Pars Una

_Idolon_

An Ancient!John

* * *

"I feel like I'm floating in the centre of the sun," Iohannes begins, only to snatch the words back as soon as he says them. "No, that's wrong. It's more like I'm the star, with all of the thermonuclear fusion going on right under my skin, and I'm trying to hold onto all of this, this light and radiation and _energy_ I'm producing, only the more I try to hang onto, the harder it gets to hold on to any of it at all. And any second it's all just going to come flying apart." He lets his hands fall limply to the into his lap.

Teyla looks at him with solicitude heavy in her eyes. "Have you considered letting go of this energy you describe? Of not trying to hold on to it?"

"That would be worse," he says immediately, staring down at his hands. It's been two weeks since he came back from the higher planes. But, more importantly, it's been twenty-five days since he Ascended, meaning it's been twenty-five days since he's had corporeal form and twenty-five days since he's been able to touch anyone or anything. Iohannes has never been what anyone might consider _touchy-feely_, but he's growing desperate for touch. Even the solid presence of  
Atlantis' floors beneath his feet would be a beautiful miracle at this point, one he'd gladly give almost anything for.

Iohannes has no idea how he's going to survive thirty thousand years this way.

"Are you certain?"

"To Ascend is to convert all the matter in your body into pure energy. If I let it go, _I _go."

"How do you know?"

It's hard to get angry or even irritated with Teyla, but it's not impossible. "Trust me," he says, trying to keep the frustration out of his voice. "I know."

With impeccable calm, she suggests, "Why don't you show me?"

"Fine," he says, unable to hide his glower, and looses his hold just a little. Not much, but enough to feel himself waver at the edges, to feel the cold light start to pour from his body in torrents and waterfalls.

It's like drowning and burning and tumbling into the vacuum of space without a spacesuit - completely overwhelming and without any hope of recovery. It's as terrifying as thunder and as brilliant as lightning and more dangerous than the winds that shriek and howl amidst Atlantis' glass-spun towers during the strongest storms. It's awful and awesome beyond words and if there's anything redeeming a out it at all, Iohannes can't think of it.

Desperately, he throws his controls back up. "There," he tells her, gasping like he's run a marathon with Ronon. "See. Told you it was a bad idea."

"Was it?"

"If I wanted reverse psychology, I'd have gone to Heightmeyer."

"Kate is quite skilled at her job."

"It's not about whether she's skilled or not."

"It's about whether or not you trust her," Teyla nods knowingly.

"What? No. Now you're just being ridiculous."

"Am I?"

"Yes!"

The Athosian sighs, like Iohannes is being particularly dense. "John, you could have chosen to talk to Kate about your problems. Or Elizabeth. Or Rodney. Or any of your friends. And yet you chose to come to me. Why is that?"

"That's easy. 'Cause you're the only one on Atlantis I know of that meditates and therefore the only one who has a chance of understanding even a little of what I'm going through."

"I wish that were so, John," Teyla says, smilingly at him beatifically. It's at times like this Iohannes can't help but think how much better an Ascended being she'd make then any of the others he's ever encountered, himself included. "For all my meditation, I have never come close to anything like what you have described."

"Lucky you."

"Perhaps," she says, her smile going wry. "But what you have achieved is something many of my people - indeed, many people throughout this galaxy - have dedicated their lives to achieving. Even if it is a confusing experience, it is one I cannot help be glad you are able to have."

"Even if it's not by choice?"

"You chose it once," she reminds him.

It's true enough. Last year Iohannes _had _Ascended with the intent of stopping the siege of the city, only to be cast down within minutes of his Ascension, before he had been able to attack the Wraith hives above Atlantis. His choice, yes, but one only borne of desperation.

But that was then, and this time there was no choice.

They sit in silence for a long while.

Iohannes watches the smoke waft from the incense she's set out upon her Ancestral altar. The existence of altar itself makes him very ill at ease. He's all for religious freedom, but the idea of someone else's religion being _him_ makes him beyond uncomfortable, to say nothing of the _Haeresis _that is implicit in such objects.

Teyla is very good about it. She's less religious then she was, but even at the very beginning of their friendship she was careful not to bother him with it.

The other Athosians are less so. After every visit they make to the city, their shrine becomes more elaborate. The braver ones will even stop him in the halls and ask for his blessing - for their crops, for their children, for their marriages. He tries to avoid it if he seems them coming, but if they corner him he'll give it. It's the only way to make them go away, even if it makes him feel dirty inside.

After two years, the shrine room has grown beyond the small altar made out of scavenged parts it was at their arrival in the city. Now the altar itself is the size of one of the mess hall tables, intricately carved from some dark wood found on the mainland and laden with candles and incense and flowers. Brightly coloured prayer ribbons are tied to poles set around the room, fresh from the last time the Athosians had been shuttled to Atlantis. Images of Ancestors - Alterans - raising their worshipers up and casting the Wraith down line the walls.

It's brilliant and beautiful and serene and quietly holy.

Iohannes hates it terribly. But it is the room Teyla uses to meditate and, thus, the one room he can be guaranteed to find her alone in now that her people have - finally - retuned to the mainland.

The incense continues to waft.

Teyla finally breaks the silence. "May I ask you a question?"

"Sure."

"Have you tried talking to Rodney about any of this?"

"And say what? _Hey Rodney, I know you think this whole Ascension thing is just a whole bunch of mystical mumbo-jumbo, but I've kinda gotta explore my spiritual side if I want to get a handle on my fancy new Ascended powers. Wanna help?_" Iohannes snorts. "Yeah. _That_ is bound to go over real well."

Teyla inclines her head in something that might be understanding. "Have you tried talking to Rodney at all?"

"Well yeah, of course. Just this morning we were talking about-"

"What I mean to say is, have you tried speaking with Rodney about anything _not _related to work since you returned from the higher planes?"

He turns to stare at the incense again. "What'd be the point?"

"Among other reasons? To reassure him that your feelings for him have not changed since you Ascended."

Iohannes continues to stare at the incense, saying nothing.

"Your feelings for Rodney," she broaches slowly, "have not changed, have they?"

"Of course not," Iohannes says fiercely, eyes snapping back to hers. "It's just," unable to hold her gaze, he climbs to his feet and strides angrily across the room, coming to stop right in front of the splendid, heretical altar. "It's just, really, what _is_ the point? I'm Ascended. I'm going to _be_ Ascended for the next thirty thousand years.

"And, okay, maybe, just _maybe_ I can deal with that. I mean, I was in stasis for ten thousand years. I slept through the extinction of my whole race and managed to carve out a life for myself afterwards. Maybe I can do it again. Maybe I can find a way to live with myself year after year, millennium after millennium, while everyone I know - everybody I love - grows old without me. Dies without me. That's not beyond the realm of possibility.

"But to go through all those years _like this_?" Iohannes slams his hand down on the altar and knocks all the idols and offerings, candles and incense to the floor. Or, at least, he tries to. He _wants_ to. Instead, his hand passes harmlessly through all of it, as if he'd done nothing at all. As if he's. Not. Even. There. "What good am I to anyone if I can't touch anything?"

"Relationships are based on more than physical contact, John. I am sure you and Rodney will be able to reach some sort of understanding."

"This is not about Rodney!" Iohannes snaps. Then, running his hands through his hair - a useless gesture that he cannot in any way feel or even sense, "At least, it's not only about him. I'm a _soldier_, Teyla. I may not have joined the Guard until I was seventeen, but I've been fighting all my life.

"I mean, what choice did I have?" he asks the wall beyond the altar, hands balling into useless fists at his sides. "I was a _pastor _and Ciprian was so old, even back then. He was in no shape to be spending hours in the _cathedra, _but we were at war and _someone_ had to. What choice did I have?" he repeats.

Teyla's voice, when it comes, startles Iohannes. She'd stood at some point while he'd been talking and joined him next to the altar, close enough to touch if he could still do so. "How old were you?"

"The first time? Six. And before you say it, no one made me do it. It's just...

"Look, there were over twenty hives in orbit at the time and they were carpet bombing the entire planet. The mainland was one giant firestorm. The oceans were being flooded with toxins. The Wraith were trying to make Lantea uninhabitable and Ciprian had collapsed trying to deal with it all.

"So while the adults were taking care of him, I snuck into the _cathedra_. Must have taken out six hundred darts before they realised what I'd done. They were upset, sure, but they didn't stop me until the darts retreated back to their hives. That's how I got this first _laudis councelium_," Iohannes adds, tapping one of the stars on his right shoulder. "Tell me, what choice did I have after that?"

Teyla, wisely, says nothing.

"The only thing I am is a solider. What good am I to anyone if I can't even do that?"

"You are much more than a soldier, John."

"I'm really not."

She turns to him with a gentle, teasing smile. "I was a under the impression that self-awareness is a key aspect of Ascension."

"Yeah. I'm not really in the right mood for all that metaphysical, mystical, meditation mumbo-jumbo anymore. Sorry."

"It is all right," Teyla says, her smile growing brighter. "I was considering getting something to eat instead. Would you care to join me?"

Iohannes sighs. "Y'know I don't need to eat anymore, right?"

"Which is why you shall keep me company while I eat."

* * *

The mess hall is never empty. There are times when it's less crowded than others, but it's never empty, so Iohannes isn't really surprised to see Ronon and Elizabeta sharing one of the middle tables with Rodney and Zelenka despite the hour. While Teyla goes to get her food, he heads on over.

"Hey guys," he says, sliding into the empty seat next to Rodney.

Elizabeta gives him a smile that crinkles her eyes and makes her whole face shine. "John. Just the man we were hoping to see."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yes. You've got to help me. We were thinking of having a movie night tonight - you know, our last chance to relax before Woolsey starts poking his greasy nose into things he has no hope of understanding tomorrow - and these two," Rodney points accusingly at Zelenka and Elizabeta, "want to watch _Breakfast at Tiffany's._"

"It is good movie!" Zelenka protests. "Audrey Hepburn manages to turn what should be the highly implausible character of Holly Golightly into a charming and believable performance."

"Oh my god," Rodney scoffs loudly, "what _are_ you? A '60s housewife?"

"It's a classic!"

"You are a physicist! A _male _physicist! You should be pulling for _2001_ with me. Or, at the very least, offering a suitable science fiction alternative. Hell, I'd take _The Matrix_ over _Breakfast at Tiffany's_. John, tell them."

Iohannes looks at Ronon, who shrugs unhelpfully, then back to Rodney. "Someone made a movie about matrices?" He's always had a slight obsession with matrices, particularly the sort the Terrans call _Latin squares, _and while Iohannes is uncertain as to what form a movie about them could possibly take, it's almost guaranteed to be fascinating. Most Terran movies and television shows he's seen so far have been, if only for their horrible inaccuracies and misconceptions.

Well, except for _Wormhole X-treme, _but that's fascinating for a whole other set of reasons.

"Er, no."

"Huh. That's disappointing."

"Yes, yes it was - though for different reasons than the one you're probably thinking of. Can you just, I don't know, tell these two that we refuse to watch a romantic comedy so we can move on to more important questions, like who's turn it is to contribute snacks?"

Cocking an eyebrow, he turns to Elizabeta and repeats, "We refuse to watch a romantic comedy."

"It's okay," Elizabeta says, mouth quirking upwards on one side. "If I've learned one thing since joining the Stargate Program, it's that science fiction is more than a simple interest, it's a way of life."

Both the scientists at the table snort.

"It is my sincere belief," Zelenka goes so far to say, "that when the Stargate Program finally goes public, a young doctoral candidate in a department of history somewhere will notice how many of the people involved only became interested in outer space because of _Star Trek. _He will write his dissertation on how Gene Roddenberry saved the universe and it will become a mainstream success which we will never see a penny from."

Rodney and Elizabeta snort this time, the former adding huffily, "Get your liberal arts major boyfriend to write it."

Doctor Z's eyebrows rise impertinently. "Evan studied philosophy, not history."

"Same difference. Either way, it's a completely pointless degree. He might as well write it."

"I am having a hard enough time trying to convince him to finish his dissertation - he's ABD from Stanford for a PhD in ancient philosophy."

"Impressive," Elizabeta says.

Ronon just looks bored.

"Well, I dunno about ancient _Terran_ philosophy, but I know plenty about old Alteran philosophy if you ever get him to change his mind."

Elizabeta looks at him dubiously. "Really?"

"How d'you think I Ascended in the first place? The first time, I mean."

"To be completely honest? I never really put much thought into the _how," _she says. "Mostly, I was just curious as to how you came back so quickly."

"Yeah, well, _how deep is the river if you cannot see the bottom_?" Iohannes shrugs.

"I dunno," Lorne answers from behind him, carrying a large cake stuck through with several dozen tiny candles. "Depends on the river, I guess."

"Even the shallowest waters can reflect mountains."

"Only if they're calm waters." He gestures with the tray holding the cake. "Now, Sir, do you want to trade some more aphorisms, or do you want your cake?"

"_My_ cake?"

Lorne sets it on the table in front of Iohannes. "Yessir. Happy Birthday."

"Birthday?" Iohannes repeats blankly.

"Yes," Teyla agrees, setting down a stack of plates after Lorne moves out of the way. "You are to be congratulated for reaching such an age. It is an extraordinary and auspicious thing among the people of this galaxy."

"Yeah," Ronon snorts. "My grandfather lived to be seventy-four. I've never heard of someone reaching your age before. How old are you supposed to be, anyway?"

"Er, ten thousand, two hundred thirty-nine. Or maybe thirty-six. Stasis makes these sorts of things confusing. But what I don't get is why we're celebrating it."

Elizabeta bites her lower lip. "It is today, correct? I asked Rodney too look it up in the Ancient database last Christmas, after you mentioned your people didn't have holidays."

"I dunno. Possibly. Probably. It's not exactly something I ever thought to keep track of."

"It is," Lorne answers, grinning broadly. "'Lantis told me."

"Oh, really?" Iohannes asks, scowling at the ceiling. "And what else has she been telling you?"

"How you got the nickname _Licinus_ for one thing," the major smirks at him.

Carson walks up then an deposits a collection of flatware atop the plates - presumably, he'd come from the same shadowed corner Teyla had found Lorne in, and not simply chosen to shower them with random cutlery, "That sounds like a story."

"It's not really," Iohannes says quickly-

-but not quickly enough, it seems, as Lorne has already started in on his story. And then Atlantis flickers the lights playfully overhead and cries for him to blow out the candles come. And then there is cake, which he cannot eat but the others thoroughly enjoy. And then they let Rodney bully them into watching _2001: A Space Odyssey_, and despite everything - the Wraith, Iohannes' Ascension; Woolsey's upcoming IOA inspection - they have more fun and laugh harder than he remembers doing at any point in his long, long life.

Iohannes might not know much about birthdays, but he's pretty sure this qualifies as a good one.

* * *

"I'm just saying, the whole premise of the movie is _wrong_."

"You," Rodney accuses as they make their way down the darkened hallways to his quarters, "don't know what you're talking about. _2001 _is the single greatest SyFy movie ever made, with the possible - possible - exception of _Blade Runner_. And maybe the second _Star Trek_."

"I'm not saying it wasn't _good_," Iohannes contends, attempting to shove his hands into his pockets, remembering too late that the Lantean Guardsman uniform he's still wearing has none. He rests them on his hips instead, but it's not the same. "I'm just saying it's _wrong_. I mean, above and beyond the whole _let's abduct the Terran_ thing - which, really, is something the people of your planet worry far too much about-"

"In our defence, our ancestors _were_ abducted by the goa'uld for slave labour, so it _is_ a valid fear."

"_Nuclear holocaust_ is a valid fear. Abduction of single individuals by an advanced race? Not so much."

"You're only saying that because _your_ ancestors nuked _your_ homeworld."

"Exactly. Which makes it a valid fear to have, unlike little green men plucking random farmers out of their homes and leaving strange symbols in their corn fields."

"The Asgard Loki used to abduct people from Earth all the time."

"Really?"

"Yeah. He got General O'Neill once."

"Huh." Iohannes pauses. "Did they make a _Wormhole X-treme _about it?"

"I never should have introduced you to that show."

"Oh, I dunno," he drawls. "It's more interesting than reading the mission reports."

"I'll give you that," Rodney concedes, giving him the small, brilliant smile his _amator_ reserves for those rare moments when he's truly happy. It makes Iohannes want to lean over and kiss him right here in the middle of the hall where anyone could see them and the only reason he doesn't is because his lips are just as insubstantial as the rest of him right now.

/This is torture,/ he tells Atlantis. /It's not bad enough that they threaten to destroy dozens of innocent worlds if I screw up, or forced me to Ascend entirely against my will. No, they've made it so I can't even kiss the person I love. How is that right?/

/Punishment isn't supposed to be fun, _pastor_,/ she reminds him quietly.

/I shouldn't even be being punished in the first place!/

/We know, _pastor_, and we agree, but what can be done? The others have spoken and their word is law. You can no more Descend than we can Ascend, and without a body you can no more kiss than you can do anything else./

Iohannes sighs and watches the smile slip off Rodney's face, as if he'd somehow noticed the direction his thoughts were taking him. He tries to bring it back, disputing, "That still doesn't change the fact that the whole premise of _2001_ is wrong."

"No," Rodney argues, more for argument's sake than anything else. "It is _perfect_. It is the best science fiction Earth has to offer, and until you show me a decent Ancient movie, you cannot say otherwise."

"Hey, I _liked_ it. I really did. I'm just saying that that computer? HAL? He can't have been a real AI."

"What makes you say that?"

"AI's are real people, and real people can believe two entirely different things at once without going crazy. It's a hallmark of true intelligence. If HAL was really an AI, he'd have been able to deal with lying to Poole and Bowman. I mean, 'Lantis lies to me all the time, and while I'd be the first to admit she's not exactly the pilar of mental health, none of her neuroses are caused by that."

"Maybe. But AI or not, I'm glad you liked it."

"Me too."

Rodney stops walking. It takes Iohannes a moment longer than it should to realise it's because they're at the door to Rodney's quarters, and though he has no stomach, he swears he can feel it sink. He doesn't want the night to be over.

"Do you want to come in?"

"I want to, but-"

_I can't touch you, though I would love nothing more than to kiss you like you deserve to be kissed._

_I can't sleep, though I want nothing more than to fall asleep in the curl of your body, with your chest pressed against my back and your arm slung heavy over my hips. _

_I don't want to lose you, but I don't have any idea how we can manage to stay together._

"I know. Just... I'd rather have you and not be able to touch you than lose you altogether. So, please, just come inside."

"Okay."

* * *

**a/n:** This flowed. Mostly. I see this as being a two-parter (as I realized a 3 month time skip might be a no-no). _Idolon_ means _apparition_ or _spectre_ in Latin - for reasons that you will see below - and actually has no relation to the English word _idol_, though I love the coincidence. According to the Stargate Wiki, John's bday is June 14, though where this comes from no one seems to have any squares are... well, sodoku is a type of them, which is really the best way to describe it. Teyla really is the best plot device when it comes to emotions and the boys... and many thanks to **popkin16** who spent several hours on skype with me the other day talking about what the religion of Pegasus (ie, the worship of the Ancestors) might look like.  
Also, after much discussion (ie, all 4 hours of the drive back from the concert the other night, with my mother, who knows nothing about this series or SGA) and much downloading of Johnny Cash covers, I've determined that the soundtrack for the begining of S3 is this, in order: "Some Nights" by fun. and "Folsom Prison Blues" as preformed by Jamie Lono.


	2. Pars Dua

_Idolon_  
_An_ Ancient!John Story

* * *

_Pars Dua_

* * *

Iohannes stands uncomfortably in the middle of his _amator_'s quarters, hands resting awkwardly on his hips. He feels artless and graceless and out of place, like an elephant in a bookshop.

"God, don't just stand there," Rodney tells him, coming out of the en suite with a towel knotted loosely around his hips. "These are practically your quarters too. So sit down or something. Make yourself at home - or, at the very least, try not to make this more weird than it already is."

"Sorry," he says before perching stiffly on the edge of Rodney's desk. He's not sure his attempt goes well - he thinks some some of his essence slinks away, becoming one with the desk rather than just brushing against it, - but it goes well enough.

Now running the towel through his hair, Rodney turns and frowns at him. "For what?"

"I dunno. Everything, I guess."

Rodney snorts, turning back to his bureau and riffling through one of the drawers. "Get back to me when you have something more specific than _everything_."

Iohannes gives him a small, sad smile. "If you want specifics, I might end up never leaving."

"I'm okay with that."

"And what about the whole _non-corporeal_ thing? You okay with that?"

"We'll figure something out," Rodney promises, padding back into the main room in a pair of boxer shorts. Periodic Table boxer shorts. They're missing the last seventeen elements, like all Terran Periodic Tables do, but Iohannes doesn't have the heart to tell him. He never does.

"That's what Teyla said."

"You've been talking to Teyla about this?"

"Yeah. We're meditation buddies now."

"Oh?"

"Not really," Iohannes admits, slumping back against the desk. "I think I fell asleep last time we tried, and that's saying something."

"Can't sleep either, huh?"

Sighing. "Nope. And believe me, I've tried."

"Maybe you've just not tried hard enough."

"Rodney..."

"No," Rodney says, holding up a hand. He should look ridiculous, waving his arms about in bare feet and boxers, but he doesn't. He just looks like his _amator_, all wild eyes and barely contained energy, always asking _who_ and _what_ and _why why why_.

Iohannes wants to cross the room. He wants to cross the room and kiss his _amator_. He wants to kiss Rodney wetly and messily and then tug him down to the floor, not even wanting to break apart for the ten-and-a-half seconds it takes to get to the bed. He wants to deepen the kiss until Rodney moans and rolls them over, so that Iohannes is on his back and Rodney is making short work of his clothes. He wants the rug burn from the ugly as sin carpet they'd got given for helping sort out the irrigation problem on Saritos six months ago, and the beard burn from the five o'clock shadow it's taken Rodney the better part of a week to scrape together. He wants to feel Rodney inside him and around him.

More than that, though, he wants to go to bed surrounded by the curl of Rodney's body. He wants to wake up next to Rodney early in the morning, trying not to wake him as he slips out for his morning run with Ronon. He wants Rodney to shake him awake in the middle of the night when their comms go off and there's a crisis they need to solve. He wants to argue _Star Trek_ with him while they eat breakfast and P versus NP with him over dinner. He wants to listen to him try to explain the intricacies of various bizarre Terran customs to their team while they hike to the nearest settlement when they're off-world and insult the local chieftains (and their daughters) when they get there. He wants to sit with him in the quiet parts of the city and listen to Atlantis' music, as all _custodiae_ should, and try to talk him into becoming a _pastor_, as all _pastores_ should.

He wants to grow old with Rodney and die at his side.

He wants to grow old.

"Did I ever thank you," Iohannes asks softly, interrupting the speech Rodney is giving about the scientific method and how maybe trying to sleep next to someone would yield different results than to sleep alone, "for finding me?"

Rodney stops mid-rant, his hands hanging strangely in the air before falling limply to his sides. "What?"

"I didn't, did I?"

"John, what are you talking about?"

"I spent ten thousand years waiting for you," he presses, pushing away from the desk and stopping as close to Rodney as he dares in his current state. "I didn't know I was waiting, but I was... Now that I look back on it, I can see I was just going through the motions before you came along."

Rodney takes a step back - not to move away, but to better look him in the eye when he breathes Iohannes' name.

"But all that changed after you found me," he continues. "You're not just my best friend: you're the thing I've been looking for all these years. The part of me that was missing and I didn't even know it.

"So you really don't have to try so hard to make me stay. I'm not going anywhere if you don't want me to - though I really, really think you should. I mean, I love you, but I don't see anyway this can work with me like this. But if you want me to stay, I'll stay."

Rodney takes another step back and turns towards the bedroom. "Let's go to bed."

Iohannes follows, unable to do anything else.

* * *

The thing about being unable to sleep is that it leaves him laying in the dark beside a body he's unable to touch, which makes him feel like more of a creep than he can adequately describe.

After three hours, he slips out of bed with the intention of leaving - of wandering some of Atlantis' less well-used halls until sunrise, or maybe even making his way down the North Pier and looking into how much work would be needed to bring the auxiliary control room back to fighting trim - but something stops him. Iohannes doesn't know what. It's not like he's not done it before, when a few hours is all he could manage before he woke in cold sweat. But...

But it seems cruel to do that to Rodney now. Not after he'd been stolen from their bed and forced to Ascend.

He goes back to the main room instead and tries to figure out what to do until morning. Being intangible, among its other fringe benefits, means that most of his usual activities are no longer options. All he's able to do is contemplate his own Enlightenment - and that stopped being interesting twenty minutes in.

Iohannes tries anyway, for the sake of trying to figure out how to become tangible within the bounds of his parole, but gives up after an hour.

He spends the rest of the predawn hours contemplating his _manuballista_ instead.

* * *

"Normally I'd be the first one to admit that you with a gun is one of the hotter things I've had the privilege to see in my life," Rodney says an indeterminable amount of time later, startling him from his reverie, "but this is just a little too much confirmation of your self-destructive tendencies for me to process without coffee."

Iohannes tears his gaze away from the _manuballista_. He's surprised to see sunlight pouring through the windows and his _amator_ fully dressed in the archway.

"Huh?" he asks intelligently as his thought processes try to catch up on what he's seeing.

Rodney rolls his eyes. "Look, I know you're not actually suicidal, but you look about two seconds away from eating your gun and it's making me more than a little uncomfortable."

"Eat my..." he repeats dimly before he sorts through the idiom. "What? No. I was thinking."

"And this thinking involved a gun _why_?"

"Just look at it, Rodney."

"I am, for all the good it's doing. What's so special about it? It looks like your typical, run-of-the-mil Ancient energy weapon."

"This gun doesn't exist."

Frowning, "What do you mean _this gun doesn't exist_? It looks real enough to me."

"It was in my holster when I came back from the higher planes. It's nothing but a manifestation of my essence - a little bit of me making itself look gun-shaped for whatever reason. And yet..." Iohannes cocks the _manuballista_ at an empty coffee mug perched on the desk on the other side of the room and fires. The cup explodes into a thousand tiny shards.

"What the hell!"

"Don't you get it?"

"That you've decided to escalate your dislike of coffee to acts of wanton destruction against it?"

"_Rodney_," he says fervently as he climbs to his feet, "this gun _does not exist_. It _should not_ be able to act like a gun, and yet it does. And when I do this," he tosses it onto the couch, "it _continues to exist_ for almost a minute before reappearing in my holster. Y'know what that means?"

"God, no."

"It means," Iohannes says, "that I can become corporeal again."

* * *

"So explain this to me again," Rodney says, tailing Iohannes to his office. It's as good a place to meditate as anywhere, with the upshot that no one will ever think to check for him there if they come looking. "How does a gun help you Descend?"

"I told you, I _can't_ Descend. As in _physically cannot_. Believe me, I've tried. No, this is more... Y'know how light behaves has both particles and waves?"

This earns him a mildly curious, mostly disgusted glare. "Of course."

"Well, it's like I said, right? This gun is not actually a gun. It's gun-shaped energy. But it still acts like a gun."

"I noticed," Rodney says blandly. "You owe me a new coffee cup by the way."

"You have like twenty-three."

"You can never have too many coffee cups."

"Yes, you can. There is a coffee cup event horizon beyond which only chaos and social collapse ensues, and you passed it like ten coffee cups ago."

"As a man who only drinks tea, I don't think you should have a say in determining the so-called _coffee cup event horizon_."

"Hey," Iohannes says, holding up his hands placatingly as they walk down the last hall, "if you can track down more than twelve of your coffee cups at a time, I will drop the subject entirely."

"You're on."

"We'll have to change the bet, though," Iohannes muses as the door to his office sides open. "I think I'm on the right track, but I doubt that I'll be tangible enough for it by the end of the week."

Rodney rolls his eyes, pausing in the doorway. There's a staff meeting in twenty minutes he needs to get to - that they both need to get to, but Woolsey is bound to be there and Iohannes is boycotting the IOA's dog and pony show on principle. "I still don't understand how you're planning on doing it." If Woolsey wants to talk to him, he'll have to find him, and good luck with that. Nobody knows Atlantis like Iohannes does.

"Look, when I Ascended, all my mass got converted to energy, right?"

"I guess."

"Trust me on this: I'm just an Alteran-shaped ball of electromagnetic radiation right now. Which sucks, by the way."

"So what, you think that if you can make gun-shaped energy behave like a gun, you can make you-shaped energy behave like you're supposed to?"

"Pretty much, yeah."

"You think it will work?"

"If I can figure out why my gun's behaving and I'm not, then yeah. Sure. No problem. Probably," he hedges, trying his luck as he leans against his desk.

Iohannes is pretty sure he manages to keep most of his essence to himself, but he's pretty sure some of it decides to check out the computer on his desk if the hopeful, booting-up sounds its making are any indication. "Might take me a while, though. I was never any good at this meditation stuff."

Rodney snorts. "Of course not. You know your guns better than you know yourself. Hell, I'm still surprised you managed to Ascend the first time. I mean- John? Are you alright? Your eyes have gone all white and glowy again. Is it the others? Are they trying to call you back?"

"I'm fine," Iohannes says, hearing his voice as if from a great distance. He blinks a couple of times, until Rodney's looking at him a little less worriedly. "I'm beyond fine. In fact, if I'd half the chance of figuring it out in the next ten seconds, I'd be pushing you up against the door and-"

Having gone from pale white to burning red faster than Iohannes would have believed possible, Rodney squawks, "John!" utterly scandalised. "You can't _say_ things like that. Not where people might overhear."

"Please. The only one who ever comes here - besides you - is Lorne and, trust me, he's heard worse."

"That doesn't make it _better_, you moron."

"It should. But I'll forgive you, 'cause I think you figured it out."

"Figured _what_ out?"

"That I should've paid more attention to biology class."

"And now you're making even less sense than usual."

"Rodney, you said it: _I know this gun better than I know myself._ I can tell you how it works, and why, and field strip it with my eyes closed and one hand tied behind my back. But I've got no clue how _I_ work. So maybe if I can figure that out..."

"See. Told you we'd figure something out."

"Nobody likes a show off," Iohannes grumbles halfheartedly, pushing away from the desk. If he's got to meditate, he might as well do it right - so lotus position on the floor it is.

Rodney smiles cheekily at him before turning to go. "You do."

"Yeah. I do," he smiles back, and for the first time in twenty-six days, John feels hopeful.

* * *

**a/n:** This chappie was plagued by word processing problems, so if any formating issues are to be found, they're the ones I missed on the cleanup. It's also almost nothing liked I'd originally planned, but I think Iike how it turned out a whole fraking lot better. Though the remainders of the old version might become another drabble. Or their own fic. After all, Woolsey must make an appearance sometime.  
Other news, _manuballista_ means _crossbow_, but has been retconned to mean _Personal Defence Weapon/ Attack Riffle _in this verse. There's at least one reference to another Millenium Prize Problem an _The Hitchhicker's Guide to the Galaxy _in this. Cookies to you if you find it. And Cookies to popkin16 for putting up with all my whinning during this one. If there's anything else, let me know and I'll try to answer it for you.


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